His Live-In Mistress

For a moment she stared into those chilly dark eyes in mute astonishment, then, when she’d gathered her wits, she pushed back a coiling strand of red-gold hair that had escaped from her hastily erected bun and frowned. ‘I’m organising what I need for tonight’s dinner, Mr Jacobs. Isn’t that what you hired me for?’

‘As long as you’re not being idle. This is a big house and it takes a lot of looking after. I take a lot of looking after.’

Was he being facetious? Liadan really couldn’t tell. Especially when his expression was about as impenetrable as the vaults of the Bank of England. Releasing a small sigh, she prayed he wasn’t always going to be this difficult, this provoking. Had the affable and dependable Kate been subject to his arrogant moods immediately when she started to work for him? If she had, the woman surely deserved some kind of endurance medal for her troubles.

‘What is it you want, Mr Jacobs? If you’ll just tell me I’ll see if I can help.’

What Adrian could have done with was a long hot bath followed by a massage. He’d been up most of the night writing, his shoulders ached, his head throbbed and he was irritated and angry at Kate’s desertion. And all because the silly woman had fallen for some probably extremely dull professor of history her father had introduced her to during the summer holidays. He’d clearly misjudged her character, because he would have sworn she wasn’t the type to fall head over heels in love like some giddy sixteen-year-old.

Reining in his thoughts on the matter, Adrian met Liadan’s apprehensive blue gaze with a deep frown. He almost had the urge to ask her to oblige him with a massage just for the hell of it. She’d probably turn tail and run out of there so fast her feet would leave a trail of smoke in her wake. He would have smiled at the thought if the consequences of such an action wouldn’t leave him in the direst straits possible.

‘Right now I need to walk and think. Did Kate show you around the grounds when she took you on her little tour?’

‘She would have done but she was in a hurry to catch her train.’ Rising to her feet, Liadan folded her arms across her thick wool sweater for protection. Adrian Jacobs made her uneasy. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he knew everything and she knew nothing—a trait that hardly boded well for a smooth association.

‘Then go and put your coat on and come and join me. I’ll point out a couple of things of interest but otherwise I’d prefer not to have any conversation. If you can manage to stay quiet I think I could tolerate some company for half an hour.’

Embarrassed heat scorching her cheeks, Liadan glanced down at the clean pine table with her thoughts rioting, wondering how she managed to refrain from picking up her cup of camomile tea and throwing it at him. Of all the unbelievably rude, insufferable—‘I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. I really need to get my ingredients together to cook dinner.’

Jerking his head in annoyance, Adrian held Liadan riveted to the spot with the force of his steely-eyed stare. ‘Go and get your coat, Miss Willow. When I said I could tolerate some company, I wasn’t giving you the option of a refusal.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE air was so cold Liadan’s breath practically turned to ice as soon as it left her lips. With her coat collar turned up high over her thick woollen scarf, she trailed behind Adrian as he strode ahead, his shoes crunching into the deep impacted snow and his gloveless hands buried deep inside the pockets of his long black coat. The sky was so white it almost matched the snow in brightness and Liadan wished she had her sunglasses to fend off the glare. Shielding her gaze with her gloved hand, she was deeply stirred by the magical landscape that revealed itself to her. Once she could simply accept that Adrian Jacobs wasn’t going to be the most sociable or approachable boss she could hope for, then she could actually start to enjoy the wintry beauty of her incredible surroundings and take pleasure in it, she decided.

‘That tower over there is two hundred and fifty years old and the clipped Holm oaks survive from the original garden. Just beyond the oaks there’s an orangery and an ornamental stream.’

Adrian waited for Liadan to catch up with him as he turned and spoke, his breath mimicking little puffs of locomotive steam in the frosty afternoon air. Surprised by his unexpected solicitude, Liadan duly quickened her stride, her boots plunging deep into the snow as she struggled to find some kind of rhythm, all the while far too conscious of his steady dark gaze on her efforts.

‘Gardens like this must take a lot of looking after,’ she breathed as she drew level. ‘You must have a team of gardeners, surely?’

His dark eyes narrowed. ‘Just George and his son Steven. They’re here most days. You’ll probably see them around. I don’t tolerate too many people on my property, Miss Willow. On the whole, I find people demand far more than I wish to give.’

‘But this is such a beautiful place. Don’t you ever feel like sharing it?’ The question was out before Liadan gave herself a chance to consider the wisdom of speaking such thoughts out loud. It hung suspended in the frozen air, making her squirm inside when it appeared that Adrian had not the slightest intention of answering her. But he didn’t turn away and continue striding ahead as she expected. Instead, a deep scowl etching his brow, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.

‘The answer to your question is no, Miss Willow. I expressly don’t feel like sharing my home with anyone. I live here because I actively enjoy the isolation. My uncle lived here on his own for twenty-five years after his wife died. Accidents or illness permitting, I plan to do the same.’

Well, she’d wanted an answer and she’d got one. Did he have any idea how cold and lonely a proposition his words suggested? What had happened to the man that he preferred to live his life away from the rest of humanity, like some kind of eccentric, wealthy recluse?

‘So you inherited the house from your uncle?’ she asked.

‘You were wondering how I could possibly afford to live in such grandeur on the pay of a jobbing writer,’ Adrian drawled scathingly.

Liadan couldn’t help but smile. ‘I know you’re a very successful author of crime novels, Mr Jacobs. It’s rare that your books aren’t on the best-seller lists.’

‘You’ve read my work?’ A new expression stole into those impenetrable dark eyes of his. Surprise? Caution? Disbelief? Perhaps all three? Liadan couldn’t be certain.

‘My brother Callum is a fan. He lent me a couple of your books one Christmas when I had nothing else to read.’ Colouring slightly at the admission and painfully aware that she could have chosen her words more carefully, she pressed on regardless before he could interrupt her. ‘They were very intriguing.’

‘But?’

To her consternation she saw that Adrian was smiling—well, for a second or two it seemed that the corners of his stern mouth lifted a little. Ducking her chin down into the warmth of her orange scarf, Liadan bravely met his questioning gaze. ‘They were so…so dark and spine-chilling. And the endings were unredeemingly bleak.’

‘So you were looking for some kind of redemption in my stories, were you? Some kind of light at the end of the tunnel to reassure you that really life couldn’t be as bad as all that, and all’s well that ends well?’

Her toes curling stiffly inside her boots, Liadan was beginning to wish she’d said nothing. Adrian’s scornful tone made her opinions sound naïve and somehow uneducated, and just for a moment she hated him for that.

‘Life isn’t all bad, no matter what you say. Everyone has their tough times but we learn from them, don’t we? We learn from them and move on. And things always get better as long as we don’t give up, don’t you agree?’

Her blue eyes sparkled a little defiantly, her words stirring such a surprising feeling of rage inside Adrian’s chest that he spun away from her before he said things he would probably only regret later. So the earnest Miss Willow thought that life was full of redeeming qualities, did she? How long before fate snatched the blinkers from her eyes and dealt her a crushing blow, one of the magnitude that he had suffered, to disabuse her of such an opinion?

As he strode far ahead, instinctively knowing she would have trouble keeping up with him, Adrian cursed himself for having the very thought that she might ever suffer such a tragedy.

The dining room was cold and cheerless, and as she laid a place setting for one at the head of the long oak refectory table that evening Liadan glanced distractedly at the empty fireplace, cursing herself for not thinking of laying a fire earlier. Even though the three radiators were switched to a high heat, the warmth they generated barely made an impact on the huge, draughty room. Those stately Georgian windows were the culprits. With their single-paned glass that the wind seemed to rattle through, no wonder the room remained chilled. Rubbing her hands together briskly to make them warmer, Liadan turned on her heel to return to the big bright kitchen, which would be cosily warm and full of fragrant cooking smells from the lamb casserole she’d put in the oven two hours ago. Distracted, she walked straight into a wall of steel with strong arms that immediately reached out to steady her as her eyes flew wide in shock.

‘Mr Jacobs! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Where’s the fire?’

Flustered, Liadan stepped back in dismay, glancing over her shoulder at the empty grate, trying to convince herself that contact with his body hadn’t sent shock waves of acute awareness flooding through her that made all her nerve endings sizzle. ‘I’m afraid I forgot to lay it. I was so busy organising dinner I—’

‘The question wasn’t literal. I wondered where you were rushing off to in such a hurry.’ A glint of amusement lurked in the dark depths of his fascinating eyes. Adrian’s acute study of her was agonising, making her blood heat to an alarming degree.

‘I was—I was anxious to see to dinner. Are you sure you want to eat in here? It’s much warmer in the kitchen if you don’t mind the cooking smells.’

‘I always have my evening meal in the dining room—unless of course I’m working. Then I have it in my study.’

About to boldly suggest he do something radical and break the habit of a lifetime, Liadan clamped her mouth closed just in time and said nothing. So as well as dour and unfriendly he was a creature of habit too? The observation surprised her. In her mind, people who feared change feared life. But Adrian had reported back from some of the most inhospitable environs in the world—in some of the most dangerous situations. It didn’t seem likely that a little thing like changing his dinnertime routine would faze him. Still, it annoyed her not to know the reason why he seemed such a stickler for routine.

‘I’m just sorry it’s so cold in here.’ Subconsciously illustrating the fact by rubbing her hands up and down her arms in her thick wool sweater, Liadan ventured a smile.

‘I think I have enough flesh covering my bones not to be too bothered by the lowered temperatures, Miss Willow.’

Although his manner was teasing, there was no humour reflected in his hypnotically compelling face. Confronted with yet another reminder of that disturbingly hard male body, the muscles in his arms like ropes of steel if his earlier grip had been any indication, Liadan quickly averted her gaze in case her fascinated expression gave her away.

‘Well, then…I’ll bring in your meal if you’d like to sit down.’

‘Bring some wine too. I trust Kate left you instructions as to my preferences?’

A dark full-bodied red with dinner. Liadan didn’t know why the description should bother her so, but right at that moment it did.

‘Right,’ she said, hovering at the door. Paying her no further attention, Adrian moved to the head of the table and sat down.

Her perfume lingered when she’d gone. Not overpowering, but light and sweet where it drifted on the air like May blossom. Breathing it in and feeling its unsettling effect, Adrian picked up his empty wineglass and flicked it restlessly with his nail. Kate hadn’t worn perfume—at least, not that he remembered. Could he enforce a rule that the wearing of perfume was banned whenever he was around, on the grounds that it was far too distracting for his peace of mind? He could just imagine what his pretty new housekeeper would think about that. No doubt she already saw him as a younger version of Scrooge. But why should he worry when, if his initial assumption proved to be right, she wouldn’t even last the week? Irritably he put down the wineglass. Then folding his arms across his chest, he leant back against the high-backed dining chair and briefly shut his eyes.

Nicole had always worn perfume. Even in the most unsuitable places, including the jungle. She used to laugh that a girl had standards to maintain and should never forget her femininity…The thought stole up on him like a thief in the night, searing his chest like a firebrand, and he sat bolt upright, grasping the edges of the table for support. That was twice in one day he’d thought about Nicole—the woman he’d planned to marry, fellow journalist and love of his life. Months had gone by without him allowing such thoughts access to even the merest dusty corner of his mind, and now twice in the space of less than twelve hours her memory had hit him hard, like a fierce blow slamming into his ribcage that doubled him up in agony. His mind’s eye saw her: glorious red-gold hair splayed out on that sun-baked concrete, blood staining the silken strands like some vile desecration; her beautiful green eyes staring up at Adrian in confusion and pain as she drew her last few breaths on this earth.

The news team had been warned about a possible attack on the embassy for weeks leading up to the terrorist bomb that had blown it to smithereens. But on that baking-hot day, after they’d travelled for three days to get there through notorious bandit country, Adrian’s belief in his own invincibility had been sky-high. So much so that he’d convinced the other, less confident members of his crew that, as long as they kept their wits about them at all times, all would be well. Seconds before they started to walk into the embassy, he’d been sharing a joke with Nicole about the unappetising rations they’d endured the last few days, when Mark, one of the older, more experienced cameramen on the team, had called him back to the Jeep to fetch the micro-cassette recorder he had left behind. Just as Adrian had reached the hot, mud-splattered vehicle all hell had broken loose, in an ear-splitting explosion that had sounded like the end of the world. Mark had shoved him roughly to the ground to give him some cover and Adrian had stared helplessly across to the sidewalk to see Nicole lying there…